Mend Thy Tears
by auroraskyes
Summary: In the blink of an eye, everything can change. After two vanished years, nothing is clear anymore. Sarkney.
1. Chapter One

**Mend Thy Tears**

**Author:** auroraskyes

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Alias, duh. Props to JJ and crew for the awesome finale.

**Archive:** You want it, ask me first.

**Summary:** In the blink of an eye, everything can change. After two vanished years, nothing is clear anymore.

**Ship:** Syd/Sark

**Timeline:** Takes place right after the Telling.

**Category:** Angst, Romance, Action/Adventure

**  
Chapter One**

"You've been missing for almost two years."

As the words come out of Vaughn's mouth, Sydney stares at him, almost uncomprehending. How could it be? "No…" She whispers, tears threatening to spill over. "It can't be."

He looks at her with a sad expression; he feels pained to be the one to break this to her. "I'm so sorry, Syd. But… we thought you were dead. God, Sydney. You just vanished without a trace."

Tears are streaming down her cheeks and she just keeps shaking her head. She doesn't understand, doesn't comprehend how such a thing could be. How could the past two years of her life all be a blank? She understands that someone probably did this to her—someone like her mother—but what she doesn't get is why, why isn't she dead? Why leave her in Hong Kong? She continues to stare at Vaughn. Not the Vaughn she used to know, not the Vaughn she used to love—but a different Vaughn. One that has obviously moved on, one who is married, the Vaughn without her. She sobs at the thought of him with another woman, another life. "Why didn't you look for me?"

He wants to pull her into a hug, just hold her, and whisper that everything will be okay. He's torn between that and just letting her cry, because as painful as it is, he has moved on. He looks away from her tear-streaked face and settles for doing the latter. "We did. For months, everyone—me, Jack, Will, Dixon, Weiss, Marshall, even Carrie—we did everything to try to find you. We followed every lead, no matter how small, in hopes of recovering you." He doesn't say, _or your body_, but Sydney knows the words belong there. "At first, when we got to your house that night, we thought you had been kidnapped. We waited for someone to contact us, someone who had any information regarding your whereabouts. As the weeks dragged by, any leads we had got thinner and thinner, until it became obvious to us that either, you were dead and buried, you didn't want to be found, or someone was working very hard to keep you from being found. Whichever it was, we refused to accept it, at least at first. Dixon, Will, Marshall, Weiss and Carrie first came to the point where they acknowledged that you were gone, whether dead or missing, chances were, you weren't coming back. It took both your father and I over a year to accept that fact. Neither of us wanted you to be gone. We both loved you so much, Syd. It just… broke our hearts."

She tries to smile at him and fails. "Obviously, you moved on." She can't help the bitterness in her tone, and she feels utterly helpless without the prospect of Vaughn in her future.

He winces at her words, but looks her in the eyes and tells her, "Syd… two years doesn't change what I feel a bit. The fact that you were missing, gone, probably dead doesn't change the way I feel either. I still love you, Sydney, but you're right. I have moved on. I know I will always love you, but I love Erin also. She knows the whole story and is so supportive. She's my wife, Syd. Nothing can change that."

Sydney nods, knowing the full truth behind his words. She has been gone for two years, has been presumed to be dead. Did she really expect Vaughn to stick around and pretend she was coming back? She feels extremely selfish, knowing that yes, she really did wish that. But it is unfair to him that just because she isn't dead, she wants him back. She looks at him, seeing that he is content with his life. She puts her hand on his and smiles when he looks at her, acknowledging the truth. She knows that she isn't going to bounce back right away, she might never stop caring for him, but she can move on, in time. Just like he did. "I understand, Vaughn." She tries to keep the pain out of her voice, but inside, her heart is breaking. Though this may be the right thing to do, it is still one of the hardest things to do. "I want to know what's happened in the last two years."

He feels as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders when she says she understands. He knows it's painful for her, just as it is for him, but it is the right thing to do. The last two years can't be reversed, so the only thing to do is to mend things as best as possible and keep moving forward. "A lot has happened. What do you want to know?"

"Well… what happened with Will, for starters. Was 'Francie' buried? How is my dad?" She has a million questions that she wants to ask, but decides to start with the things bothering her most.

"Will is okay. At first, we thought he was killed also, but after checking his pulse, we realized he was alive, but barely. He was brought to the hospital immediately and put in intensive care. He lost a lot of blood and spent almost a month in the hospital recovering. 'Francie' was cremated. And your father is okay now. We've gotten closer in the past two years. I'm assuming you also want to know what happened to Sloane and your mother. Unfortunately, we are no closer to either of them than we were when you went missing. We've had a few leads now and then, but we haven't seen Sloane in half a year, and we haven't seen anything of your mother since the raid about a year ago." He sighs, knowing that catching Sloane and Irina was something Sydney really wanted to do. He would've loved giving her the news that, at least one of them had been apprehended. Two years later, they are no closer than they ever were.

Sydney absorbs this information, disappointed at the unknowns of Sloane and her mother's locations. She realizes something else, "Raid? What raid?"

Vaughn rubs his hands together, not wanting to be the bringer of more bad news. "Well… remember how we had Sark in the Joint Task Force building?" She nods, getting a sinking feeling in her stomach. "We had him there in the cell for about a year after your disappearance, hoping that he would reveal Irina's location, Sloane's location, or something. Something that would lead to you. Because of the information he expended before, we figured it would be easy to get a location out of him. We were wrong. Sark didn't talk, didn't give us anything after you left. About a year ago, he was to be moved to Camp Harris. After what happened with Will last time, Jack and I made sure we were personally there to oversee the transport. Irina is more brilliant that we all liked to think, because she managed to get Sark out."

She gasps, surprised at this bit of information. She knows Irina is smart, smarter than most of the people in the espionage business, but to extract Sark from under Jack Bristow's nose is pure guts. "How'd she do it?"

He chuckles. "It was too easy for her, I imagine. It required a lot of planning but that was about it. She struck so fast, we didn't have time to react. The decision to move Sark was surprising to us because he had been in the Joint Task Force building for a year and really, nothing had changed. As soon as the decision was issued to us, we were ordered to move him immediately. On the way there, a car slammed into the vehicle Jack and I were riding in. Our car flipped onto the side and by the time we managed to crawl out, Sark was gone. Just like that. Half the agents were shot and the other half were missing. The missing agents had been planted by Irina. How she did it, we never found out. The great part is, get this, she was the only who sent us to decision to move Sark to Camp Harris. Marshall found out, a little too late, that she had forged the orders we thought had been made by the Justice Department. We haven't seen or heard about neither Sark nor Irina since that time."

"She managed to fool everyone. That's pretty amazing." Sydney can't believe the changes in the past two years. "Has anything else happened? Something less, depressing, perhaps? I'm sure there are tons of anecdotes you have."

Vaughn flashes the dimpled smile that used to make her knees go weak. "Marshall and Carrie got married. It was a very nice wedding, actually. It took place on the beach, there was a sunset, and it was so beautiful. Those two are just the sweetest couple. I'm sure that when you get back to LA, you can see some pictures. Everyone has some."

At the mention of going home, Sydney's smile wanes. "Vaughn… I don't know if I want to go back to LA."

"What? Syd, you have to go back. Everyone is waiting for you. I mean, your father, don't you want to see him? You also need to go for an extensive debrief and maybe some regression therapy to see where you've been the past two years, what intel you might have picked up unconsciously."

"That's the thing, Vaughn. I just woke up in Hong Kong not remembering the past two years of my life. I don't want to go through therapy, debriefings, and all that crap. I want a break."

Vaughn is silent as he ponders over her words. "Where are you going to go then?"

"Europe, maybe. I need a break." She knows that going away, taking time to herself will help her heal her wounds, maybe ease her broken heart. She toys with the idea of a permanent vacation.

"How long?"

"I don't want to go back." She whispers, knowing that in her heart, she wants out. At least for now.

"What? Sydney. What are you talking about?" His forehead wrinkles as he tries to understand the meaning of her words.

"Vaughn. I'm so sick of all this. I'm sick of being a spy, sick of lying, sick of looking over my shoulder twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I want out."

"What the hell? You can't just quit right now. What about Sloane? What, what about your mother? And Sark?"

"Look, Vaughn. I've been a spy for the past, what, decade of my life? I am sick of it. Look what it has gotten me. A dead fiancé, a doubled and dead best friend, another best friend who had his life turned upside down, a mother who's not quite dead, who I don't quite trust, and amnesia regarding the past two years of my life! I might go back later on, but right now, I just can't go back. Forget about Sloane, forget about my mother, forget about Sark. We aren't any closer to capturing them. I'm going to Europe after I make a stop in LA."

Vaughn sighs, knowing there is no way to change her mind. "Fine. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

She nods. "Yes."

"Then let's go. You have a plane to catch. I have to go back to France and my plane's not until tomorrow. Syd, I just want you to know… I'll always care for you. Be careful, okay? When you come back to LA, be sure to visit me." He holds out his arms and gives her a hug.

"I will. I'm sure your wife is a great person. I would love to meet her someday. Thank you for understanding, Vaughn. Maybe I'll remember something for these past two years." In all honesty, she isn't sure she would be able to handle meeting Vaughn's wife. Perhaps in the future, when she has someone as well, but not now. The heartache is too strong. Vaughn walks her out of the safe house and watches as she gets into a car. "Goodbye, Vaughn," she whispers.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

As the plane begins its descent into Zurich, Sydney keeps her gaze directed outside the window, taking in the mountains, and the striking scenery of Switzerland. Most people traveling across Europe won't begin their journey in the middle of the continent, but that is precisely why Sydney has chosen Switzerland. At the time of booking a flight, she hadn't decided how many places she wanted to go, or any details regarding her vacation at all. Switzerland is a splendid country and she can go to so many places—once she decides to leave. After the plane taxis, she takes her suitcase and purse and follows the rest of the passengers off the airplane. She moves with a smile planted on her face, feeling not completely herself, which is completely understandable, given everything she has just been through. When the customs officer tells her to enjoy her stay in Switzerland, she nods and thanks him. Outside the airport, she hails a taxi and directs the driver to her hotel.

Finally making it to her room, Sydney collapses onto the bed after throwing her bags down and locking the door. Jet lag sets in and she closes her eyes for a nap.

_Sydney ran frantically up the stairs, exiting on the roof level, looking for any signs of her mother. She saw Irina crouched on the ledge of the building, ready to make her getaway. "Freeze! I've shot you before, I will do it again." _

_Irina turned slowly, looking at the gun __Sydney__ had pointed at her._

_ "Keep your hands in the air." _

_Irina lifted her hands slowly, prepared to fall backwards at any second._

_Sydney__ spoke into her comm, "I'm on the roof, I've got Derevko." She glanced back at Irina. "Get off the ledge."_

_"I'll tell you what you need to know." Irina stayed on the ledge, watching __Sydney__ carefully._

_"Get off the ledge now!"_

_This time, Irina didn't comply. She spoke rapidly, "Sloane believes he's been chosen to realize the word of Rambaldi, but you, too, have been chosen." _

_Sydney wavered, but held the gun still, "If you think I'm bluffing…"_

_Irina smiled, "It's you in the prophecy __Sydney__, not me. Only you can stop him. Good luck, sweetheart." _

_"Get down now!" Sydney aimed the gun shakily, keeping it pointed at Irina._

_"I love you." Irina leaned backwards, falling off the side of the building. _

Sydney jerks awake, sitting straight up in bed. Why is she dreaming about her mother again? She finds it hard to believe, what happened on the roof had been two years ago, when the scene is so fresh in her mind. She frowns, hearing Irina's words in her mind, _"Only you can stop him." _Sydney scoffs, feeling more certain that Rambaldi is a fake. Isn't Sloane supposed to take over the world or something to that effect? He's had two years to do so, and according to her senses, the world is perfectly intact. Nothing has changed, save for all the personal things she cannot remember. She pushes Rambaldi, Sloane, and her mother to the far corner of her mind. This was her damn vacation and nothing was going to ruin it. She rummages through her bag and quickly scans the rooms for bugs. She might have 'quit' the CIA, but one can never be too careful. The room is clean, and not for the first time, she wonders if she has made the right decision. She remembers her conversation with her father.

_Sydney__ climbed hesitantly out of the car and walked slowly to her father's front door. Normally, she would have gone to the Joint Task Force building to talk to him, but she didn't want to run into Kendall or anyone else from work. She rang the doorbell, shifting her weight from one foot to another. The door opened unhurriedly and __Sydney__ found herself staring at her father. As soon as he saw her, he pulled her into a warm embrace that she hadn't experienced in years. After they pulled apart, Jack motioned for her to come inside. She followed him into the house. "__Sydney__… I almost didn't believe it when __Kendall__ said that you had called. It seemed…like an impossibility. After two years of desperate searching, we had come up with nothing. Yet, when we finally started to accept the fact that you might be gone for good, you called. What happened, __Sydney__?" He handed her some coffee and they sat down on the sofa._

_"Dad… I can't… I can't remember the past two years of my life. I didn't even know that two years had passed. When I called, I'd thought that maybe I'd been knocked out for a week, a month tops. But to have two years of my life be a complete blank? It's just unimaginable. When Vaughn came to the safe house, I was so happy to see him. Little did I know that my entire world would come crashing down." She sniffed, tears filling her eyes as she spoke._

_"Oh, __Sydney__… I'm so sorry. I know you cared for Vaughn and now he's married. As for the past two years, you might have to undergo regression therapy when you get back to the CIA. Perhaps we can find out where you were, what you've done, who you've been with the past two years. It could give us some leads on Irina or Sloane or __Sark__ if you were ever in contact with them. When do you think you can be in?" His face held a passive expression, but his eyes mirrored his concern._

_"This is why I'm here. I have to talk to you about something… Dad, I'm going to __Europe__ after this and I don't know when I will be back. I'm quitting the CIA." For a few short seconds, Jack Bristow looked completely shocked, but he composed himself and prepared to rebuke her decision. "Before you say anything, just hear me out. I can't take it anymore. I just woke up not remembering the past two years of my life! Vaughn is married, and if I go in for a debrief, they are going to grind me and grind me until I break down. I need to get away." _

_"Why are you going to leave for good?"_

_"This life has done nothing for me. I've lost so many people I care about, and we might never catch Sloane and my mother. I don't want to waste any more of my time on this. Please, Dad, try to understand." She looked him in the eyes, wondering what he would say._

_"You do realize that __Kendall__ will probably have you fired once he hears about this?"_

_She nodded. "You can tell him I quit."_

_He thought about it and slowly nodded his consent, "I don't think it is the wisest thing to do, but it is your decision. I know you can be very stubborn and I am assuming you won't be talked out of this. That said, I believe you are old enough and wise enough to know what's best for yourself. I support your decision." _

_A smile broke out on her face and __Sydney__ hugged Jack once again. "Thank you, Dad. You have no idea how much this means to me. I have to go, but I promise to call you from __Europe__. Will you tell everyone else that I'm thinking of them and I send my regards?"_

_Jack walked her to the door and smiled as well, "Of course." He watched __Sydney__ walk towards her car and remembered something else, "__Sydney__."_

_She turned. "Yeah, Dad?"_

_"I love you." His face was completely serious as he said this, but his eyes conveyed his happiness._

_"I love you, too." She continued to smile as she got into her car and drove away._

A few days into her vacation, Sydney is beginning to feel a bit lonely. She doesn't have many people to talk to. Being on vacation by oneself can get dull, very quick. Sydney finds herself wishing for Vaughn, almost involuntarily. She pushes the thought into the corner of her mind that her spy life occupies. Vaughn is married. She realizes that it is not so much about Vaughn as it is about having someone, anyone here with her. She doesn't have anyone. She sighs at her self-pity and decides to do something fun tonight. She changes into a black tank top and a black miniskirt. She glances over herself in the mirror. She runs her hand through her now-short hair; it has been cut to just below her jaw line. The outfit reveals her tanned stomach, and is perfect for clubbing. _Clubbing it is._

Sydney walks slowly into the club, pretending to be uninterested in her surroundings. She disregards the few guys that walk her way, looking her up and down, and heads toward the bar. Sitting down, she waves to the bartender and orders a glass of Château Petruse. She drains the first glass and asks for more. As the alcohol enters her bloodstream, she feels a warmth rush through her body. She tells the bartender to leave the bottle, and manages to down the whole thing. She stands up, a bit wobbly at first. She ignores the part of her brain that tells her she's drunk, and decides to dance. Winking at one of the guys that keeps looking at her, she walks over to him and starts to move her body to the beat of the music, encouraging him to move with her. He isn't all that bad looking, she decides. Blonde hair, green eyes—who does that remind her of?—and a nice body. The time passes quickly as she continues to dance with different guys, feeling like she is on an adrenaline rush. It feels good. Along the way, she drinks more shots of alcohol, and her movements start to get a little irregular. Someone grabs her ass and she unsuccessfully tries to push him away. She starts to feel lightheaded from all the alcohol and mutters, "Stop it," to the person—it's the guy with green eyes—trying to feel her up.

Suddenly, he stumbles backward, yelling, "Sonofabitch!" and holds his nose.

Sydney turns and notices someone with disheveled blond hair and icy blue eyes by her side. She squints, "Sark?"

The guy before throws a punch, but Sark dodges it easily and hits him in the stomach. Green eyes wipes the blood from his nose and backs away slowly. Sark puts an arm around Sydney's shoulder and says to her, "Let's go. You're drunk."

She resists at first, knowing that going with an escaped prisoner while she's slightly intoxicated isn't very smart. "Let me go. I want to dance. I'm not drunk." She tries to push him away, but he tightens his grip on her.

"Stop it. We're leaving." His voice is perfectly calm, as if they are a couple and he is used to rescuing her. He throws some money onto the bar for her drinks and pulls her into him.

Even in her drunken stupor, Sydney can't help but think how well she fits into Sark. Two years hasn't changed him much; he still looks as striking as he used to. Sydney lets herself be steered out of the club by him. In the taxi, he gives the name of her hotel. She is too woozy to wonder how he knows where she is staying; all she can think about is how nice it feels leaning against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

When they reach the hotel, Sark pays the driver and helps her out of the taxi. He asks her for the key to her room when they are in the elevator and she fumbles to get it from her purse. She manages to make it into the room on her own, but collapses onto the bed at once. Sark stands there, feeling awkward. He gets some water from the bathroom and sits down beside her on the bed. He forces her to drink a bit of water. She mutters something along the lines of a "thanks" before she curls up and sleeps. Sark sighs, wondering if he should stay or leave. He doesn't know why he decided to be a knight in shining armor for Ms. Bristow, but her behavior intrigued him. He hasn't seen Sydney in two years, and two years ago, she would've never gotten so drunk, and she would've been able to defend herself. What is so different now? Rubbing his forehead, he lies down on the sofa and decides to close his eyes for just a moment.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Sydney wakes, struggling to sit up straight. As soon as she opens her eyes and props herself up, a sharp pain shoots to her head. "Augh," she moans, squinting in the bright sunlight streaming into the hotel room. She rubs her forehead as the fog lifts and she recalls last night's events in her mind. She sighs, glancing around the room. She notices Sark sleeping soundly on the couch. Hopping out of bed and stumbling across the room, she glances at Sark's sleeping figure along the way to the bathroom. His lips are slightly parted and his chest rises and falls evenly. Sydney is amazed at how peaceful and innocent he appears. Before her thoughts can dwell anymore on Sark, she starts to feel ill. she bends over the toilet and pukes up last night's dinner. After her stomach has been emptied, she feels slightly better.

Flushing the toilet, she hears the words, "Hangover's a bitch, isn't it?" Sark stands in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning on the frame, smirking. His hair is tousled and he looks slightly sleepy.

"Shut up," Sydney mutters, turning on the faucet and splashing her face with cold water. She circles around to face Sark, "Why are you still here?" Her tone is curious, as if she couldn't fathom why Sark would want to stay with her.

He shrugs, unsure of the answer himself. "I fell asleep. Do you want me to leave?"

She brushes past him, moving back into the bedroom. "I was just curious. Thanks… for last night. I didn't think so at the time, but I really was drunk. I guess… you saved me from making a fool out of myself."

"Not just that…" Sark lets his unsaid words hang in the air.

"I know, I know, the guy practically tried to rape me. Don't have to gloat about it. I haven't seen you in two years and you haven't changed at all, you know."

He smirks, "Was I supposed to?"

"You're still giving me a hard time about everything. How long are you going to remind me that I got extremely drunk?" Sydney folds her arms and looks at him pointedly.

He chuckles, knowing she is right. "On the contrary, I believe I've changed for the better. You too have changed, however, it doesn't seem it's necessarily for the better."

"What?"

"Two years ago, you would've never gotten into a situation like you were in last night. And you would've beaten the guy to a bloody pulp if he tried to touch you, or perhaps your charming Agent Vaughn would have. Since I am standing here, talking to you, I know you haven't tried to hurt me, or bring me back to the horrid CIA cell."

Sydney holds back her tears at the mention of Vaughn. She wonders, briefly, how much Sark knows about the past two years. "A lot has changed."

"I can tell. If you don't mind me asking, why are you here?"

"I'm not allowed to take a vacation?"

"You're by yourself. I'm surprised nobody is here with you. Why isn't Agent Vaughn with you?"

"Why do you care?"

Sark looks away, not wanting to tell Sydney that she looks as if she is about to cry and not wanting to admit to himself that he actually cares. "I'm just curious. You two seemed, I don't know, sickeningly in love," he keeps his tone neutral, as if nothing remotely like love had never entered his life, and had never been torn away.

She laughs a bitter laugh. "Obviously, you've been just as out of the loop as I have. Vaughn's married, Sark. And not to me. I thought that you were the one who kept tabs on everyone and planned three moves ahead."

Sark blinks, obviously surprised by this bit of information. "I never kept tabs on everyone. Only certain people." He hesitates, then asks softly, his voice laced with concern, "What happened with Agent Vaughn?"

Sydney looks at him, unsure of what to make of his newfound worry for her. "I just told you, he's married. What more is there to it?"

"How, Sydney. How did that happen?" Sark curses himself for not keeping closer tabs on Sydney after he got out of the CIA's grip. He had been too focused on his own safety to monitor anything but Sydney's travels after Irina freed him from the clutches of the CIA.

She finds herself growing angry and irritated by his perpetual questioning, "Why do you even care?"

"You two seemed so in love. Agent Vaughn doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would give up 'true love'," Sark emphasizes these words with finger quotes, "He also doesn't strike me as the type of person who would give up someone like you, no matter how dense I considered him to be."

Sydney blinks. Has Sark just managed to compliment her and insult Vaughn in the same sentence? "Vaughn's not stupid," she tells him lamely, not fully believing herself either.

"Why are you still defending him? Obviously, something happened in Hong Kong or perhaps it was before Hong Kong, but something happened between you two. What happened, Sydney?" Sark persists with his questioning, getting the feeling that there is something more behind this small story.

"I just—Hong Kong?" Sydney's eyes grow wide. Does Sark know what happened to her? "What do you know about me being in Hong Kong?"

"Certainly less than you do. I just know you were there," he shrugs, the importance of the information lost on him.

Sydney shakes her head, "How long have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"I only know the places you've been. I've been too concerned with my own safety to really keep tabs on you. Being on the run from the CIA isn't exactly the best time to monitor their agents," he explains, wondering why she cares so much about what he knows. Is she hiding something?

"So… where have I been?" She ventures, wondering how long it will take Sark to get suspicious. Knowing Sark, he probably already is.

Sark feels himself growing impatient, "This conversation has strayed from our original topic. You've yet to tell me what happened with Agent Vaughn. Why should it matter to you if I know where you've been for the past year or so? Certainly, my knowing something of so little important shouldn't alarm you."

Sydney narrows her eyes, "Why do you care so much about what happened between Vaughn and me? And don't give me that whole 'being in love' reason; you wouldn't care about love. You've probably never been in love, and you probably don't know what love means." She almost regrets her words as she see the stricken expression pass fleetingly across Sark's face. Perhaps, she has been too judgmental. But in a matter of seconds, Sark's normally calm, cool expression is back in place.

"Don't assume things, Ms. Bristow. It's dangerous," Sark's voice is hard, and he regards her coldly, as if daring her to make another assumption about him. "Our experiences in love may be more alike than you think."

Well, if Sark wants to be all huffy about it, "I doubt that." She wants to remain just as neutral as Sark, but her curiosity gets the better of her, "Who did you love, then?"

"It isn't important. It was two years ago, and she obviously didn't care for me the way I cared for her." His voice tinges with bitterness, "And she was killed." He doesn't add, _by you_, but perhaps, those unspoken words are the most important ones.

Nothing prepares Sydney for that type of answer. "Oh," she chokes out, her mind frozen. "I'm sorry. Was she… an innocent?"

Sark nearly laughs at Sydney's question. She obviously has no clue that Allison is the girl he is referring to. He sees the surprise in her eyes, and wonders what she would do if she knew. "No. I have my suspicions about her caring for someone else, but she called me 'stupid' when I asked her if she fancied Tippin," Sark hides a grin, knowing this piece of information will send Sydney reeling.

And it does. She blinks a few times before yelling, "The hell?!?! Your girlfriend was Allison Doren? While she was—and she loved Will? And—oh geez… this is too much…"

Sark shakes his head, "What is so hard to believe? That I could actually care for somebody? Or the fact that Allison 'became' your friend?"

"Maybe the fact that she killed Francie! She nearly killed Will, and nearly killed me! If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't be here!" Sydney's voice escalates with each word.

"Sydney. Get a hold of yourself. Have you forgotten that it was you who killed her?"

"I had every reason to kill her! She killed Francie, she nearly killed Will, and she tried to kill me—"

At this point, Sark interrupts her and observes dryly, "Yes, I do believe you mentioned her murder attempts already. It's a part of this life, Sydney. Lives will be lost. And if I am not mistaken, you were all but saddened at the prospect of killing Mr. Sloane."

"That's different," she insists weakly, knowing deep down that it really isn't.

"How so? Just because Mr. Sloane was 'evil'? It's not that simple, Sydney. You can't keep separating the world into good and evil, especially not in the espionage life. You aren't a saint, and neither are the CIA agents. And regardless of what you might think, your mother and I are not out to destroy the world. Even Mr. Sloane has a soft side. He loved Emily, remember? He loved her so much that he almost threw everything away for her. It's not black and white, Sydney, it's grey. Just different shades of grey for everyone."

Sydney slumps down on the sofa, feeling extremely worn out. "When did you become so wise?" Sydney had meant for the question to be sarcastic, but instead, it comes out hushed and apprehensive.

Sark stands in front of her and looks down into her eyes somberly, "You'd be surprised what a long time in this business will do to you. You're lucky, Sydney, at least to me. You've had your share of bad experiences, worked for people on what you would consider the wrong side, but you didn't get involved until you were 19. You have a family and you have friends." He shifts his gaze from her to the window.

Sydney is taken aback at Sark's willingness to confess something fairly personal to her. A question nags at her, and she wavers a second before asking delicately, "Did you love Allison?"

Sark's gaze continues to linger on the scenery out the window, "I cared deeply for her, but I don't think I truly loved her. Not the way love is supposed to be. Perhaps you were right." He pauses for an instant, before adding quietly, "I don't think I've ever truly experienced love."

Sydney can't think of anything appropriate to say. The words, "I'm sorry," escape her lips, but she winces at how she sounds almost as if she pities Sark.

Apparently, Sark still isn't ready to drop the issue of her and Vaughn, because he turns back to her and asks, "Are you ready to tell me what happened between you and Agent Vaughn now?"

She opens her mouth to say no again, but finds herself confessing the events of the night she disappeared instead. Once she starts talking, she can't stop. The entire story pours out, starting with what happened with Will and Allison.

When she reaches the part about waking in Hong Kong, Sark's eyes widen in slight disbelief. He can't help but interject, "That's improbable."

Sydney smiles wryly. She finds it amusing, but not unusual that Sark didn't say impossible. Perhaps Rambaldi has shown the both of them that nothing is impossible. She proceeds to tell Sark exactly what happened with Vaughn, "He was married. I had been gone for two years, presumed dead by most. It was so incredibly selfish of me, but when I saw his ring, I wondered how he could do that to me." She laughs, but tears fill her eyes and spill over. "I wanted him back. Imagine what he felt," she says haltingly through her tiny sobs and hiccups. "He told me he loved his wife; that he couldn't leave her. I let him go. It was the right thing. That's how I ended up here. I wanted a break. I need to learn how to live without Vaughn. Letting him go was the right thing to do… but also the most painful." She curls up and hugs her knees, really allowing herself to cry for her broken heart. The pain and emotion that has been bottled up for the past week or so finally spills out as she weeps, her wall breaking down.

Sark watches her cry. She looks as vulnerable as a child does and he feels a strange need to comfort her. He doesn't wonder to himself, at which point was it that everything changed? When had he stopped wanting to be rid of Sydney, and started wanting to protect her? Instead, he sits down on the sofa next to her and reaches out a hand hesitantly, before pulling her soothingly into his arms.

Sydney feels small yet safe in Sark's tender embrace.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't try to comfort her with words. He just smoothes her hair and lets her cry into his shoulder.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"Where are you headed to now?" Sydney asks, as she sits cross-legged on the sofa, facing Sark.

Sark leans on the armrest, frowning, "I'm not quite sure actually. Are you going to stay here?"

"Probably not. This is my first vacation place, and I think I need to go somewhere new," she glances down, picking at the lint on the couch. Taking a deep breath, she glances up again into Sark's face, "Thank you."

He doesn't say anything, just gives her a lopsided grin.

She offers a tiny smile, still feeling a little weak from her breakdown. It doesn't stop her from thinking that Sark can be good company, when he isn't being a pain.

Sark pauses for a moment, thinking over what his words are about to imply, "I have a house… in Lugano. It overlooks the lake."

"Are you inviting me to join you?" Sydney teases, wondering what exactly to make of his declaration.

To her surprise, or perhaps she just doesn't want to get her hopes up, Sark replies, "I suppose so."

"Really?" Sydney can imagine the shock Sark must be hearing in her voice.

Sark laughs, amused. "Of course. Taking a vacation by oneself is never that much fun. Perhaps, I could even check if you have been anywhere strange these past two years. A location could trigger a memory or something," he points out, looking at her questioningly.

She doesn't miss a beat, "Okay. Let's go." Maybe it's the fact that she really wants to know where she's been, or maybe she just needs someone, anyone, that she finds herself grabbing her bags and following Sark out of the hotel room. Maybe it's the fact that Sark just comforted her, or the fact that he's familiar, but whatever the reason, she feels strangely refreshed at her decision.

Outside, Sydney raises an eyebrow as they approach Sark's car.

"What?" Sark notices the nearly incredulous expression on Sydney's face. "My car not good enough for you?"

"I thought you had a Mercedes," she points out.

"I still do," he smirks. "I just like this car better."

"I never figured you for the racecar type," she shrugs, glancing down at his sleek, silver Porsche. She has to admit the car reflects its owner. Suave, classy, and attractive.

"This one is my favorite car," he tells her as he holds the door on the passenger side for her, then walks around the car to get in himself.

The drive from Zurich to Lugano takes about two and a half hours. For most of the ride, the car is filled with a calming silence. Sydney sleeps half the way, but when they reach the Alps, she is fully awake, taking in the green mountains. The scenery is breathtaking and for a moment, Sydney feels as if she can close her eyes and pretend she's someone on a vacation, instead of someone running from the mixed up events in her life.

Sark pulls up to the house, a white one with a red roof. The dark and narrow entryway, filled with red tiled floors and cream stucco walls, leads into a wide-open room with a high beamed ceiling. He leads her through the house; it is actually bigger than it seems on the outside. The living room has a black leather couch and loveseat, a wide screen flat panel television, and an all around entertainment system. The wide windows that overlook the lake are adorned with pale yellow curtains, a color slightly darker than the walls.

Sydney smirks as she takes in all the decorations; the house seems all too bright for someone like Sark. But, then again, she never really knew him, did she? Upstairs, the bedrooms are decorated with cool colors—green, blue, and purple—and each room has a large king-sized bed. The whole place is very comforting in a way, which is a quality Sydney would have never associated with Sark before.

Sark motions at three unoccupied bedrooms each furnished lavishly and attractively, "Take your pick."

Sydney peers into each room, then looks down the hall, "Where's your room?"

"Last one on the left," Sark motions.

She picks the room closest to his.

Sark tells her to make herself at home, and announces that he is going to take a nap and a shower. She throws her luggage into her new room and lies down on the large bed. _Silk sheets_, she muses, _Sark__ sure knows how to live._ She stares up at the ceiling, somewhat questioning her decision to come here. How is she going to live with Sark? She isn't sure they will have anything to talk about, anything in common. But it's too late to turn back now, so she'll just have to see where this will go. Quietly, she turns on her side and closes her eyes.

In the office—the first room closest to the stairs on the second floor—Sark sets up his laptop on the desk, even though there is a computer next to him. "The laptop has all the records," he explains, as he catches Sydney looking at him confusingly.

She just nods, sitting down on the sofa across from Sark's desk. She studies him carefully, taking in everything from his chiseled facial features, which have lost some of its boyishness but not attractiveness, to a small dark scar on the right side of his neck, just below his ear. She wonders from what kind of fight is the scar a vestige. Her gaze wanders down to his fingers, typing away at the keyboard. Slender, graceful, yet powerful, she imagines that Sark's hands have changed the lives of many, for better or for worse.

"Okay," Sark speaks, unaware of the thoughts running through Sydney's head. She shakes her head clear and focuses on his words, "You've been to these countries in the past two years: Italy, Russia, Spain, England, Ukraine, and Germany. Do any of those places hold any significance to you?" Sark looks at Sydney questioningly while continuing to click away on his laptop, searching for more records.

"Not really," she admits, shaking her head. "I've been to all those places before, and I'm fluent in some of those languages, but none are really sticking out to me."

He seems to have stopped listening. "Wait, wait, wait. The cities…"

"What?" Sydney sits up straight on the leather sofa. "What are the cities?"

"Rome, Moscow, Madrid, London, Kiev, Berlin. Sydney, they're all—"

"The capitals," she finishes excitedly, feeling that they are finally on to something. "It has to have significant meaning right?"

"Mm," Sark says noncommittally, continuing to focus on the computer screen. "This is strange too. You were each city for two months exactly."

"What?" The information Sark is feeding her doesn't exactly comfort her. While it's nice to know something of her whereabouts in the past two years, she can't help but be nearly terrified at the things she still doesn't know. Why had she gone to those capitals? Why two months? Who, if anyone, had she been with? What if—a horrified thought passes through her brain—she had done something terrible? She refuses to think of all the things she could have done. Without any memory of the past events, it is too easy to scare herself.

"Can't you say something other than what? I'm just telling you what I have here."

"Well, geez, I'm sorry. I'll try and be more considerate when I'm completely baffled next time," she says sarcastically, punctuating each word. She wonders, briefly, if Sark would care if he learned her apprehensions about the things she might've done in the past two years.

"Don't get upset. It's not going to give you back your memory, and it'll only serve to annoy me," he tells her calmly, as if speaking to a child. He doesn't bother looking from the laptop screen.

Sydney sighs, not wanting to argue about trivial matters. "What else does it say about where I've been? Was I with anyone?"

"No, that's all I have here at the moment."

"Well, find some more or something." She thinks that Sark must have more information; he is usually very thorough with his research.

"I probably can't." He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

Sydney raises an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"I just can't, Sydney," he finally glances at her, giving her a look that tells her not to push it.

She ignores it. "Who did you get the information from before?"

"I don't think you need to know."

"Dammit, I thought you were going to help me. Everyone else is already lying to me, and now you are too." As soon as the words leave her mouth, another terrible thought passes through her head. What if Sark _is_ lying? It could be such an easy set up. Maybe Sark knows where she had been; maybe he had been with her. _No,_ she tells herself, pushing the thoughts away. Sark is the only person who can help her; she has to place some trust in him. She refuses to ask the CIA for help, and isn't Sark the one who comforted her in her time of need?

"I am trying to help you," Sark says calmly, ignoring her accusation, unwilling to be provoked by her frustration.

"Apparently not," she pronounces angrily. She stands up and prepares to walk out, muttering under her breath, "You're still a cocky British bastard who cares only about himself."

She isn't sure if he hears her, but nonetheless he stands up and grabs her wrist before she can take more than two steps. She turns abruptly to face him and finds her face within two inches of his. She can see his eyes, a clear sapphire, and her heart begins to pound. Suddenly, his lips are on hers. She isn't sure who had leaned forward, but it doesn't matter. For a few seconds, she dives into the kiss, allowing herself to feel it. His lips are soft and gentle, but at the same time probing. Sydney knows it's wrong, oh so wrong, but she can't remember being kissed like this. It's probably been two years since she's been kissed at all, and even if she doesn't know it, her body does. His kisses are light and teasing, and Sydney leans into him, wanting more. However, when Sark's hands slid around her waist beneath the hem of her shirt, the haze in her mind clears long enough for her to push him away. "Sark," she gasps, suddenly feeling extremely guilty about what had just happened. "I can't… I—" she stumbles on her words, looking into Sark's eyes. They are a deep blue, dark with desire. She is sure that he sees the same emotion reflected in her eyes.

Sark immediately takes a step back. "Sorry," he says simply, softly, even though he really isn't. He gives her a long look, then turns and moves out of the room.

She hears a door close and draws in a deep breath. Sitting down on the sofa, she buries her face into her hands.

_What am I doing?_


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"I looked over the information more carefully, and there's something wrong," Sark explains to her, as he rummages through the refrigerator for something to eat.

"Yeah, what is it?" Sydney knows she sounds completely rude, but she admits that she feels annoyed at Sark for not showing any kind of acknowledgement about last night's kiss. She is nearly about to burst, wanting to explain why she pushed him away, but she knows it will only make things worse. Besides, who says she owes Sark any kind of explanation? Still, a tiny part of her brain nags at her, _you saw that look in his eyes after you pushed him away._ What look was it, exactly? Sure, there was desire shining in his eyes, just as in hers, but there was also something more. Sydney thinks it could have been disappointment, but she realizes it wasn't just that. It's something she still can't exactly pinpoint. Regret? Anger? Both? She notices Sark is speaking and forces herself to listen.

"—same time you arrived Hong Kong," Sark finishes. He looks at her carefully and sighs. Perhaps a lost look is written all over her face, or Sark is learning to read her, but either way, he shakes his head and asks, "Have I interrupted your daydream?"

She blinks, "Uh—what happened the same time I got to Hong Kong?"

"You arrived in Berlin. According to my records, you got to Berlin exactly 6 hours before you arrived in Hong Kong. Now, either you had a private jet that could fly extremely fast—which I doubt, or we have a problem—which we have to solve."

She doesn't see the problem. "Your information is wrong. It's kind of simple," she tells him in a condescending manner.

"No. It wouldn't be. My sources are extremely reliable," he is completely confident of this fact.

"Maybe," she tells him scathingly, "your _sources_ are setting you up." Sark opens his mouth to give a smart retort, but she plows on, "Of course, I wouldn't really know, since you won't tell me where you got your information from."

He tilts his head and gazes at her for a moment. "Irina," he says quietly, raising his eyebrow, wondering what her reaction will be.

"What?" Whatever Sydney had been expecting hear, it certainly hadn't been Irina's name, thought she knows she probably should've been anticipating it. "You got all your records from her?"

Sark gives her a contemptuous look. "Don't sound so incredulous. I verified the information through my own channels afterward. You did fly to all those places."

"Okay, let's think about it. What are you going on? What 'evidence' so to speak?" Sydney pulls out a chair and plops at the small kitchen table next to the window.

Sark sits down across from her and folds his hands together on the table. "Irina sent me airport surveillance footage; I had records of a plane ticket through one of your aliases."

"Surveillance can be forged, and buying a plane ticket does not mean I actually went to those places."

"I realize that, but why is it necessary? Why would Irina want to lie to me about your whereabouts? No," he shakes his head, "I am almost positive the information is true."

Sydney just stares at him, before blurting out, "How do I know you're not lying to me?" She expects Sark to laugh at her, or tell her to be sensible.

Instead, he gives her a blank, indifferent look. "Why would I lie?"

She doesn't understand how he can be so calm. He probably will never understand the way she is feeling—frustrated, confused, and upset. Before she can think twice, she is accusing him, "Why? I don't know. I could be a pawn in all this. Maybe you know exactly where I've been. Maybe you've been with me. Or maybe you held me custody for those two years and this is your idea of a sick, twisted—"

Sark grabs her by the shoulders and gives her a slight shake. He looks into her eyes. "Sydney. Don't be ridiculous. I was in custody for half the time you were missing. I couldn't have been with you."

For a moment, Sydney looks almost crestfallen, but she pronounces, "It doesn't matter. You've still been free for a year. Maybe Irina had me hostage. Maybe you joined her after she helped you escape. Then, you two decided to leave me in Hong Kong after giving me amnesia. And you saw the chance to play hero when I was in Zurich by myself." By now, Sydney isn't clear about what she is saying, or why she is blaming Sark, but that's the problem with no memories. Somebody did this to her, and she is aching to blame someone, anyone, and Sark happens to be the closest.

Sark doesn't look angry, just taken aback and even slightly amused. "Honestly, Sydney, I am just as baffled as you are on the places you've been the past two years. Whatever happened, you weren't with Irina or me. I'm telling the truth."

"That's the problem!" she cries out. "I don't know anything. Without knowing what happened, I could walk straight into a trap of sorts. I have no one to turn to, except the CIA but I know they just want to pry my brain open for information. Maybe they think I know where Sloane is, where Irina is, where you are! I don't know, but they don't care what happened to me unless it benefits them. If I can't trust the people I worked for, how can I trust you, my enemy?" She jumps up and begins to pace around the kitchen.

Sark sighs, and stands to grab her arm. He turns her around so she is facing him. "Sydney," he puts both hands on her shoulders and forces her to look at him, "You're here, aren't you? I don't think we're enemies at this moment, if we ever were. Just…" he drops his arms and shifts, looking everywhere but directly at her. "Just… trust me."

She isn't sure how to respond; aside from just hearing the most unlikely words from Sark, her skin is still tingling from his touch. When he put his hands on her shoulders, his thumb grazed her bare skin, and she felt a warm flame spread from inside her. A crazy part of her wanted to just lean into Sark and kiss him again.

He frowns at her silence and tries to study her expression. Was he wrong to have said those words? Was she going to burst into laughter at the absurdity of his suggestion? "Sydney?"

She snaps out of her thoughts and looks down at the kitchen floor. "Sorry… yeah," she mumbles, "Okay. I'll trust you. For now."

Sark nods, "Well, do you want to see the video surveillance that's from Irina?"

"Yeah, of course." She follows Sark upstairs and into the office once again. She sits down on the sofa once again and watches Sark. His laptop is just where he left it yesterday, except it had automatically shut down to save power. The events of yesterday wash over her, the kiss all too fresh in her mind. She shakes the thoughts away.

Sark moves the mouse and watches the laptop come back to life. He picks it up and sits down next to Sydney on the sofa, resting the laptop on his knees. He clicks a file and, as Sydney watches, some video footage fills the screen. She notes the time and date—_January 1st, 2005__12:47:55_—and the words on the bottom of the screen—**Leonardo da Vinci Airport, camera 15A**. As Sark begins to play back the video clip, she sees herself walk past the camera, wearing a dress suit and carrying a small black handbag. The clip changes and she sees herself walking past camera 12C. There are various shots of her in the airport, next to the customs officer, near the exit.

She sighs, "Okay, I've seen enough. So that was Rome. What's next?"

Sark clicks another video clip. "Moscow." _March 1st, 2005__ 12:57:28_, **Sheremetyevo****International****Airport**. The same basic footage as the other clip shows up on the screen. Sark goes through all the locations. "Madrid." _May 1st, 2005__ 13:__22:35_, **Madrid****Barajas****International****Airport**. "London." _July 1st, 2005__ 13:__02:23_,**Heathrow****International****Airport**. "Kiev." S_eptember 1st, 2005__ 14:__02:23__,_ **Kiev****Borispol****Airport**."Berlin." _November 1st, 2005__ 13:24:16, _**Berlin****Tempelhof****Airport**.

"Alright. What about Hong Kong?"

Sark pulls up another video file, but this one is much blurrier than the previous ones.

Sydney squints at the screen, and sees the same footage as the other clips. "Wait. It says November 2nd, 2005. The Berlin one says November 1st. Wouldn't that have given me enough time to get from Berlin to Hong Kong, had I wanted to?"

"It was November 2nd in Hong Kong. It was also twelve in the morning. There's a six hours time difference between Berlin and Hong Kong.

Sydney realizes it's true. "It doesn't make sense. Are you sure the videos are real? Wouldn't Irina have noticed that something was wrong? It's obvious just looking at the time stamps."

Sark shakes his head. "Irina didn't send me the Hong Kong surveillance. A contact owed me a favor and pulled those up for me just a few days ago. But those, along with all the other videos are real. A source of mine confirmed their authenticity, even though the Hong Kong one is very blurry."

Sydney restrains herself from questioning Sark's many sources and contacts. "Okay. But, the video is very blurry. What if it's not me?" She edges nearer next to Sark until their legs are touching, and leans in to look at the screen more closely. It looks like her, but she can't quite be sure.

"I don't know," Sark admits. "It looks like you, but honestly, it's hard to be entirely sure."

Sydney nods, rubbing her forehead. "Let's think about this later. I've been here a day and I haven't seen any of the town yet. I want to check it out."

"Whatever you say," Sark shrugs, "You can take my car if you like. They're in the garage out back."

As Sark busies himself with shutting down the laptop, Sydney leans back into the sofa and stares at her fingernails. Just as Sark is about to exit the room, she blurts out, "Sark."

He turns. "Yes?"

"Do you want to go eat dinner later?" The words leave her mouth before she can even fully comprehend them. Surprised at her own boldness, she isn't exactly sure what brought upon this. Perhaps her desire to have companionship is greater than her overwhelming fear at what feelings she might have developed for Sark.

If Sark is surprised by her offer, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods with an unreadable expression on his face. "Sure."

Sydney smiles in relief. "Well, I'm just going to take a drive around for some air, okay?"

Sark shrugs indifferently, "Go ahead. Let me know when you get back and we can go." With that, he sweeps out of the room and down the hall.

Sydney walks to the back door and out of the house for the first time since they arrived. Sark must have moved the car to the garage sometime after they got settled. She smiles to herself as she hops into his precious Porsche, running her fingers over the clean, smooth dashboard. The keys are dangling in the ignition, and she powers up the car. She understands why Sark loves this car so much. The engine makes a soft hum, and as she pulls out of the garage, her hands on the steering wheel give her a sense of power. She turns on the radio and dangles an arm out the window, breathing in the clean, crisp air. The car makes for very easy, effortless driving, and Sydney allows herself to relax completely. She follows the path of the lakeshore, glancing at the peaceful waters. There are few cars around, but she sees families by the lake, fishing and swimming. After a while of driving, Sydney frowns and sits up straighter in her seat, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Hasn't that car been behind her for a while now? Sydney shakes her head to get rid of her paranoia. Why would anyone tail her out here? Even so, there is a strange, nagging feeling in her stomach. She pulls off the main road and begins to drive down a small path that leads to the outskirts of town. She takes a few extra twists and turns, not enough to lose a tail, if she is truly being tailed, but enough to determine whether the blue Corvette behind her is actually following her or not.

After a few minutes, she determines that she is being tailed, for some reason or other. Her first instinct tells her to lose the tail. It would be easy with this car. But another part of her wonders if her mysterious follower might have something to do with the missing two years. Only one way to find out. Sydney drives until she comes upon a deserted parking lot. She pulls into the empty lot, watching the blue Corvette follow suit. She makes a full circle around the lot and quickly steps on the gas. She yanks the steering wheel to the left, making a ninety-degree turn so that her car is fully blocking the only exit to the lot. The Corvette stops abruptly, the front only a few feet from the Porsche. Sydney breaths a sigh of relief; she would have had hell to pay if Sark's car even remotely got scratched. Hopping out of the car, she walks toward the other driver.

_Here goes nothing._


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Sydney parks the car in the driveway as quickly as possible, grabbing the keys. She turns the doorknob to find that the front door is unlocked. "Sark?" she calls out. When all she gets for an answer is silence, panic seizes her. "Sark?!" she yells, scrambling up the stairs. As soon as she gets to the top, she hears water running and gives a huff of exasperation. Knocking on the bathroom door, she calls out, "Why the hell is the front door unlocked?"

"Why does it matter?" comes Sark's muffled reply.

"I thought you'd been kidnapped. I need to talk to you."

"I don't get kidnapped, Sydney. Go have a drink or something. I'll be there."

Sydney frowns at being dismissed so quickly. "I mean, right now."

Sark doesn't say anything, and after a few seconds hearing the water run, Sydney bangs on the door, repeatedly. "Sark!"

Hearing the water shut off, she smiles triumphantly though she knows there isn't any real reason to ruin Sark's shower.

The door is yanked open and just as Sydney opens her mouth to speak, she feels her stomach drop at the sight of Sark. He leans against the doorway, a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist. Water drips from his hair and down his lean yet muscular body. She sweeps her eyes down his body, her heart lodged in her throat. He folds his arms across his chest, oblivious to Sydney's gaping. "What the hell is so bloody important that I couldn't finish my shower first?"

Sydney clears her throat and attempts to shove all the dirty thoughts from her mind. "Uh... I think you should, um, get dressed first."

Sark smirks, as if he knows why Sydney is uncomfortable. "Whatever you say, your highness." He draws out the last two words and closes the bathroom door.

Sydney fumes and chastises herself for being so obvious. It wasn't as if she had never noticed Sark before. Of course, he was good-looking; nobody could deny that. But seeing him nearly naked before her... she pushes the image away. There's no way she is seriously attracted to Sark.

He steps out fully dressed in a t-shirt and slacks a moment later. He rubs his hair with a towel and raises an eyebrow. "So? What's going on?"

She takes a deep breath. "Someone was tailing me."

Sark is immediately alert, as he throws the towel on the floor of the bathroom and motions for them to sit downstairs. "Assassin?"

She shakes her head. "No. Well, maybe, but he wasn't there to kill me or hurt me."

_The driver of the other car got out, seeing as he had no other choice. He smiled as __Sydney__ walked toward him, her senses alert and prepared for an attack. He took the liberty of speaking first. "Sydney Bristow." _

_She glanced over the man, scrutinizing his looks. Fairly tall, medium brown hair, hazel eyes. He wore blue jeans and a black button down shirt. He seemed to have a hint of a Russian accent. "Have we met?" she asked, keeping her feet planted carefully in case she needed to make a quick getaway. _

_"No. But I can help you." He gave a toothy grin, which lit up his entire face like a child. _

_"I don't need help," __Sydney__ told him, a cold look on her face. _

_"I know what you're searching for. I can tell you what happened to you those two years." His smile held, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He looked fairly young to __Sydney__, probably no older than she was. _

"He wanted to give you information?" Sark asks, almost incredulously.

"I couldn't believe it either." Sydney tells him, shrugging.

_"I don't believe you. Why would you want to give me information?" _

_"There is a price, of course." He smiled mischievously. "I can give you proof. You woke up in __Hong Kong__ to find your CIA handler was married. You've been with __Sark__ for a few days now."_

_Sydney__ blinked, slightly shocked. "Okay. What do you want for the information?"  _

_The man's grin widened. "You." _

Sark's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, you're saying he wanted you to—"

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

_"What did you say? Me what?" Even as she asked the question, the answer become apparent in the way his eyes were sliding over her body. "Oh, no, no, no." _

"What I don't get is why," she muses aloud.

Sark chuckles. "I don't think you need to be reminded that men do find you attractive, even without the outrageous outfits SD-6 sometimes provides." His smirk is wide and taunting.

"I didn't mean that!" she exclaims, a slight smile apparent on her face.

"So did you get any information?"

_"No? Why not?" His eyes seem to be questioning her closely, making her a bit nervous._

_"As much as I want to know where I've been, and who I've been with, I am not compromising myself for that information. Is there anything else I can offer you?" Sydney folded her arms across her chest, showing that he couldn't change her mind._

_"Well, in that case—" A soft shot rang through the air, and to Sydney's horror, the man in front of her crumbled, a dark crimson stain spreading across his chest. She ducked immediately behind __Sark__'s car, cursing herself for not having a gun on her. She stayed silent for a few moments, and heard nothing. Slowly, she peeked from behind the car, and saw no one. When no shots rang out, she stood up completely and looked in every direction for the sniper. She saw no sign of any movement. Perplexed, she glanced quickly at the man still lying on the floor, no doubt killed. She looked away, unable to bear seeing his opened eyes, filled with shock and horror._

_Hopping back into the Porsche, she drove off, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything out of the ordinary. _

"It looks like the target was him, not you." Sark concludes, as confused by the encounter as Sydney is.

Sydney nods, leaning back into the sofa. "I know. But I don't get why the sniper only killed him. If someone were truly after him, they'd kill me in case I was an associate or I would take revenge. Unless—"

"They didn't want you to get the information," he finishes her thought.

"So I could've been the target after all. What do you think we should do?"

"Well, no doubt more than one person knows where you are, and that you're with me. But since you weren't killed, I'd say we're safe for tonight. Tomorrow, we'll leave for somewhere else."

----

A man stands in front of a desk, his hands folded. "Sir," he addresses someone sitting behind the desk, his back turned, partly obscured by the shadows. "Ivan tried to make contact with her."

The man behind the desk swirls his chair around to face the speaker. "What happened?"

"I found him negotiating with her outside Lugano."

The man rubs the stubble on his chin. "Did she get any information?"

"No, sir, I believe not."

"Good, good. I assume you disposed of him?"

"Yes. Right in front of her. But she was unharmed."

"You've confirmed it, then?"

"Yes." The man standing nods his head for emphasis.

"Very good. You may go, Benedict." He waves off Benedict toward the door, as he presses a button under his desk.

A few minutes later, a woman enters the room, confident and poised. "Yes?" Her tone is detached, her dark brown eyes cold.

"She's with Sark."

The woman's mouth curves into a smirk. "Oh, really?"

"Do not forget, it isn't the same."

"It's the same to me. Where are they?"

"Switzerland. No doubt, they'll be on the move soon, though. Ivan tried to make contact with her." He folds his arms on the desk.

Her eyes gleam. "That stupid twit. Is he dead?"

"Benedict shot him in front of her."

"And she didn't see?"

"No."

"Interesting. At least one of them can do things right, it seems." She turns to exit the room.

"Don't forget our bargain. Don't go looking for them." He calls after her retreating figure.

"I haven't, as long as you keep up your end. And don't worry, I won't." She says over her shoulder. Smiling, she adds, "Not yet, at least."

----

Sydney and Sark both decide dinner is still in order. He tells her to change into something semi formal while he goes to, no doubt, do the same. She stands in her 'room' in front of the mirror, observing how she looks. The sleeveless dress is dark red, and hugs her body nicely. It ends just below her knees, and flows out slightly. The material is light and soft, the neckline low and brushing against the inside of her breasts. She adds a pair of black heeled sandals. Her hair is curled out, barely touching her shoulders. Taking a breath, she walks back out to the living room, where Sark is sitting idly, a faraway look on his face. Upon hearing her enter, he snaps out of his daze and turns to her. A slow smile spreads across his face.

"You look beautiful," he tells her softly, as if she were the only person in the world worthy of that statement.

A blush creeps into her cheeks. "Thanks. You look great too." And he does, with a nice black dress shirt open at the collar and black pants.

He smiles genuinely and stands up, holding out his arm. "Shall we?"

----

The restaurant is dimly lit and hushed with soft music playing the background. As Sark and Sydney are taken to their booth, Sydney smiles wistfully at all the couples around them, so wrapped up in their own world. Sark notices her expression. "To be young and in love…" he quips.

She smiles at him as they take their seats across from one another. It's so odd to hear Sark talking about love, but she also recalls the conversation in the hotel room. Perhaps she isn't as surprised as she would've been two years ago. "I don't think I'm young anymore. Nor am I in love…" she trails off.

"Don't worry, Sydney. You'll find someone for you soon. And when you fall deeply in love again, nothing else will matter." He looks through the items on the menu, chewing on his bottom lip.

She tilts her head at him. "And what about you, Mr. Sark? Are you hoping to fall in love?" She wonders when she became so audacious. She marvels at how normal the two of them sound, casually conversing as if they didn't have to run tomorrow morning. What she's even more amazed at is how comfortable she feels, being here with him.

He chuckles. "That's a question for another time." His passive blue eyes meet hers, but they give away nothing.

After the meal is finished, Sydney pushes around leftover pasta in her plate, contemplating her next words. "I had a great time tonight."

Sark raises his eyebrows at her. "Are you trying to get rid of me? The night's not over yet." He swirls the wine in his glass.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." He offers her a smirk.

She shakes her head, "I'm serious."

"All right, go ahead."

"What's your first name? Where are you from? How did you get into this life?" She realizes that she has a million questions for him, all spilling out. How many more chances might she actually get to talk to this man?

"Those are loaded questions. I'm from Ireland, Irina brought me into this life, and I'd rather not give away my first name." His gaze doesn't waver, nor does his voice.

"Why not?" She wonders to herself why she chooses to focus on his name.

Apparently, he thinks the same thing. "What's so important to you about my first name?"

She counters with another question, "Why won't you tell it?"

"It's the gives me an upper hand. People are curious about it; they'll come to me. It also makes me more of an enigma. Can't have the world knowing all my secrets. Too easy to blackmail, then."

"I don't have anyone to tell, and I don't need to blackmail you."

"Maybe later," he offers quietly, effectively closing discussion on the matter. Seeing her disappointed expression, he tells her, "It's not that exciting, Sydney."

She nods, accepting his answer for now. "How did Irina bring you to into this life?" she asks, shifting the focus of the conversation, hoping he'll answer the question this time.

He stands, throwing money onto the table to pay for their dinner. "Let's take a walk."

She follows him toward the exit, feeling truly content and at ease with her life, at least for the night.

They walk alongside each other, toward the lake path. Sark slides his hand into hers before beginning to speak.

She doesn't pull away.


End file.
